


Sound (Of Your Voice)

by agenthill



Series: And, In Sign of Ancient Love, Their Plighted Hands They Join [19]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 03:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10688487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agenthill/pseuds/agenthill
Summary: For a moment, she does nothing but listen to Angela's breathing on the other end of the line, hears it hitch at the same time that her own hips jerk, and feels, somehow, that if they are still in tune so many kilometers and hours away from one another, then all is still right in the world.Or,Fareeha and Angela have some lighthearted, playful (phone) sex.





	Sound (Of Your Voice)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fmorgana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fmorgana/gifts).



> So I found out _on her birthday_ that it was a friend's birthday yesterday, and slammed this out in record time to finish before midnight... only to realize that she lives in France! That's an eight hour time difference! So I was still, in the end, late.
> 
> Either way, you can all reap the benefit of this (belated) fluff.
> 
> [Crossposted to tumblr.](http://agenthill.tumblr.com/post/159820166711/sound-of-your-voice)

11:45 on a Tuesday finds Fareeha deviating from her schedule. Normally, after her morning workout, she would be in Watchpoint: Gibraltar's gym showers, joking with Aleks after their morning workout; instead, today, she is back in the quarters she and Angela share, because Aleks has decided to do an extra few reps, and there is little point in using the communal showers alone when the water pressure in the private showers is far better. It is a small enough deviation, but one which she finds herself grateful for when Athena informs her she has an incoming call, and asks if she would like to take it.

As Athena only _asks_ for non-business matters, Fareeha knows immediately who is calling, and has her suspicions confirmed when, a few seconds later, Angela's tired voice fills the room.

"Hello, Scharï," says she.

"Hello, Angela," Fareeha answers, "Late night over there?"

"It's not late," Angela answers, "It's only..." her voice trails off a bit, before she finishes sheepishly, "03:45."

"'I'll try to be in bed before 23:45 every night I'm gone Fareeha,' you said. 'I'm an adult, Fareeha, don't worry about me,' you said. And yet, here we are, four hours later, and you're still awake."

"I know," says Angela, "I _know._ But Jesse found his old whiskey stash from when he was stationed here, and _someone_ had to look after him, and then we got to talking and..."

"...And now it's almost four in the morning?" Fareeha finishes.

"Yes."

"Go to bed, Angela," Fareeha tells her, even though, in truth, she would very much like for Angela to stay awake and talk to her. Along with Jesse and a few of the others, Angela has been gone for two weeks restoring Watchpoint: Grand Mesa, in anticipation of resuming North American operations, and Fareeha misses seeing her.

"I will," Angela promises, "I meant to hours ago and I should. I just... I've missed hearing your voice."

Fareeha knows that if she insisted, again, that Angela go to sleep, Angela would listen, and rest, and _take care of herself_ , but Fareeha is selfish, and so what she does instead is walk over to the bed and sit down on it, still in her sweaty gym clothes, and say, "Oh? So it's only my voice you've missed? Not my sparkling personality, my quick wit, or my other _assets_?" When she says assets, she is sure to emphasize the word just so, in order to convey her meaning.

"Yes well," answers Angela, sounding a bit embarrassed, "I have certainly missed your, um, assets. Among other things."

"Which things?" Fareeha asks, and waggles her eyebrows without thinking, as if Angela could see her.

" _Fareeha_ ," chides Angela, "Don't make me say it. And anyway, you know I love all of you."

"Alright, alright," Fareeha acquiesces. As much as she might enjoy how embarrassed Angela can get about vocalizing her own desires, she enjoys it far more when she can see the blush she _knows_ is forming on Angela's face, so she lets it drop, and says instead, "I've missed your assets too, you know, and sleeping with you at my side. It's harder to fall asleep alone."

At once Angela's voice turns clinical, "So you've been missing sleep?"

"Only a little!" Fareeha protests, "And you're one to talk—it's almost noon for me, so I _ought_ to be awake. You don't have that excuse."

"That's true," says Angela. "But Hana is here at Grand Mesa, and it's Tuesday, so you don't have any plans for the afternoon; you should nap while you can."

"And how am I supposed to fall asleep, hmm?"

"I could stay on the line until you do, and just talk," Angela offers.

"Please," Fareeha laughs, "We both know that the moment you get comfortable, sitting up or lying down, you're going to fall asleep. This is _you,_ you're dead to the world the instant your head touches a pillow _._ "

"Not _always,_ " Angela protests.

"Yes, yes, you make a rare exception for sex. But unless you want to have phone sex, you and I both know how that's going to play out."

From the other end of the line, there is silence.

"Oh," says Fareeha, "You do, don't you?"

"Well, now that you _mention_ it."

Fareeha is not entirely convinced that it Angela was not planning this all along, but chooses not to argue it, and instead says, "In that case, what are you wearing?"

" _Really,_ Fareeha? That's the best you can think of to start with?"

"Look, you put me on the spot! Besides, I need something to picture, don't I? I've never been to Grand Mesa."

"Well," says Angela, "You're in for disappointment then. I'm in the medical officer’s quarters, which are almost identical to the ones there, except the walls are bare, the sheets are grey, and there's only one pillow—"

"—Disappointing, I know you like at least two."

"I know! But we had to buy new pillows when we set up here, and I couldn't justify two for my head and one to hold, so I'm making do. But I digress. You wanted to know what I'm wearing, right?"

"Right," Fareeha agrees.

"Do you remember that old college t-shirt you let me have to sleep in? Well, we were cleaning today, so I needed something I wouldn't worry about ruining, and, well, I'm still in that. I already took off my jeans, but my underwear isn't terribly exciting, so there's not much to see there, it's the polka dot set. Like I said, disappointing."

"I don't know," Fareeha answers, "Somehow picturing you lying in bed wearing hardly anything more than my shirt isn't disappointing."

"Oh? Then we'll pretend I planned this." A sound from the other end, the slight groan of old springs and a rustling of sheets, and then, "So... what are _you_ wearing?"

"I'm in compression shorts and a sports bra, I was about to shower when you called, so I'm only halfway out of my gym clothes."

" _Were_ you now?" Angela purrs, "So you're all sweaty already?"

"I—yes. Yes, I am."

"So this entire time we've been talking, you've been half naked?"

"Now that you mention it...."

A soft sigh on the end is the only response.

"Am I to take it you're already touching yourself, then?" Fareeha asks.

"No," Angela answers, "But I'm remembering the shower we shared the morning I left, and I _want_ to. But you haven't told me to yet, so I'm being patient, like you would tell me to be if I were there."

Oh. _Oh._

"In that case," says Fareeha, very glad that thanks to Athena's system she does not have to hold a phone in her hand to make this call, and is free to continue talking as she struggles out of her sports bra and yanks off her compression shorts, "You're free to start, but go slowly."

"Okay," Angela answers, "I'm being gentle, just barely brushing myself through my underwear with one hand."

"And what," Fareeha asks, running one hand down between her own legs to mirror Angela, "Is your other hand doing?"

"I have it touching my breasts—not firmly, mind you, I'm just barely running my fingers over the skin, teasing at my nipples as they harden, just like you like to. Your hands always feel so good on my body, Fareeha."

"They feel good on mine, too," Fareeha answers honestly, "And unlike you, I'm not taking my time; I'm ready already to take my fingers, and I think I will, in a moment."

" _Fareeha..._ " Angela whines, "That's not fair."

"No?" Fareeha does not bother to hide the hitch in her voice as she slips her fingers inside herself, and knows Angela will understand its meaning, "Well you can do the same, if you're ready to." "...I'm not," Angela admits, as if both of them did not know, already, that it takes her longer than Fareeha to get wet.

"In the meantime," Fareeha suggests, "Why don't you suck on your fingers and get them damp? I know you like the feeling of cool air on your skin when it's been moistened, and you look so pretty when you're sucking on things."

"Mhmm," answers Angela, clearly already obeying instructions, and picturing it makes Fareeha throb in response.

For a moment, she does nothing but listen to Angela's breathing on the other end of the line, hears it hitch at the same time that her own hips jerk, and feels, somehow, that if they are still in tune so many kilometers and hours away from one another, then all is still right in the world. The thought catches her by surprise, and almost embarrasses her—even if they _are_ having sex, it seems somehow sappy to be thinking such things.

"I miss you," she blurts out anyway, as if Angela did not know, and immediately worries that she has ruined the mood.

"I miss you too," Angela answers.

Neither of them speaks, then, and although Fareeha's fingers never still she finds she is quickly losing interest.

Fortunately, Angela finds a way to salvage the situation, continuing with, "If you were here, I could have your mouth on my tits. Instead, all I have is my hands. It's not nearly so pleasant."

"No," Fareeha answers, "My fingers aren't as nice as your mouth is, either, and I'd have to be some kind of contortionist to get my mouth down to where _my_ fingers are right now. You, meanwhile, might actually be able to suck your own tit if you tried."

There is a pause on the line before Angela answers, "I don't think I'm quite big enough for that to be possible, no," and then, sounding curious, she adds, "But _you_ might be."

"Did you just... try it?" Fareeha cannot help but laugh picturing it.

"No!" Angela is indignant, but Fareeha sees through the lie, and knows Angela must be blushing bright red at having been caught.

Then, Fareeha thinks of Angela flushed for other reasons, remembers that she is lying in bed, with Fareeha's own t-shirt shoved up as high as can be in order to touch her breasts, with one hand between her legs, and suddenly the humor of the situation is not what Fareeha has on her mind.

"...In any case," Fareeha says, "I think that's enough teasing. Bring the hand at your breasts down under the band of your underwear, stopping just at your hairline."

"How do you know I haven't decided to shave?" her voice is coy when she says it.

"Have you?" Fareeha would be surprised if it were the case—Angela rarely bothers.

"Does it matter?" Angela asks her. "You won't know either way, and can picture me however you like best."

"So, Schrödinger’s pubes, then?"

"Fareeha, _please._ We're never going to get anywhere if you keep making jokes like this."

"Alright," Fareeha says, " _Whether you've shaved or not,_ stop just short of actually touching yourself."

"I have," Angela says.

"Good. Now, use your other hand touch your breasts like I usually do, keeping the first right there."

No response comes from the other end, but Fareeha can hear a hitched breath from the other end, and pinches at her own nipple in turn, mirroring what she imagines just happened.

"Do you want to know what it is I'm doing?" Fareeha asks.

"Yes," and Angela's voice is not nearly so steady, now, as it was when they began, lacks the firmness years running an operating theater have drilled into it.

"Close your eyes," Fareeha says, "and picture this. I'm on your side of the bed, and I have one of your pillows under my head, and the other under my hips—it helps with the angle, you know, my fingers aren't quite as long as yours, and I've grown accustomed to a certain... reach. I'm lying here, like this, at midday, fucking myself and thinking of you. I didn't plan on this, so I don't actually know if the door is locked, so if you somehow were to come home right now, you could walk through the door and find me like this, catch me in the act."

Halfway through her monologue, Fareeha has to slow her hand, removing the thumb at her clit. A certain breathiness is appreciated in such a call, she knows, but she does not want Angela to know just how close she is getting just yet.

"Gott, Fareeha," Angela groans into the line, "I wish I could."

"I know," Fareeha answers her, "And while I can't help you there, I may be able to help with another wish."

Angela hums questioningly in response, and Fareeha imagines she is biting her lip—a bad habit, but Angela is far more embarrassed by the noises she is prone to making than Fareeha ever has been.

"If you're good, and gentle, you can touch yourself now, but keep your hips still, and the friction light."

A whine travels across the line, and Fareeha touches herself in time, allowing her own hips to move in small circles as she rubs lightly at her own clit. Because her thighs are already weak from her workout immediately prior, they tremble more than usual, and her other hand finds itself tightening in the sheets.

On the other end, there is the rustling of sheets, and more soft whining, and Fareeha pictures Angela in nearly the same position, free hand instead braced on the headboard, legs spread wide enough for Fareeha to fit between, if only she were there, head thrown backwards into the pillow and back arching as she tries to get closer.

Of course, Fareeha knows that Angela will never get off like this, that a light touch just is not enough for her, but she knows, too, that what Angela likes most is hovering at the edge, being kept from getting off until she finally, finally breaks and begs for it, admits that she _wants this_. In turn, Fareeha enjoys that admission, enjoys being begged for, knowing that she is wanted, _needed._ An equivalent exchange.

With her fingers, Fareeha does her best to emulate Angela's technique, and it is almost _too_ hard, against herself, almost _too_ much, but the knowledge that this is how Angela would like to be touching herself, if Fareeha would let her, is enough to compensate.

At first, she describes it, tells Angela when her thumb switches from tight circles to nearly pinching, hips jerking at she flicks at herself, and she can hear Angela's breath speed up as she speaks. Soon, however, her voice is getting shaky, and she does not imagine either of them are really fit for conversation, so she stops speaking as she deviates from Angela's habits and switches to her own, slipping two fingers back inside of herself and easing the pressure at her clit.

For her part, Fareeha could get off, could have minutes before, even, but she has held off, bringing herself close enough to feel it, for her muscles to tighten and her back to bow, before slowing down, letting her heartbeat calm and sweat cool before beginning again. This time, as she once again finds herself growing close, and knowing that Angela is too, she decides not to back down, however, allows herself to surrender to her instincts.

Listening to Angela panting and whining, the rustling of sheets on the other end, the soft, slick sounds of her fingers moving in and out of herself, her whole body grows hot, and she finds herself breathing nearly as hard as she did during her workout earlier. Fareeha's muscles are tight, and her throat is dry, and it is all she can do to hold the image of Angela in her mind as her whole focus narrows to between her legs, and she knows she is close and—

" _Please, Fareeha,"_ Angela's voice begging her fills the room, as if Angela were not only with her but surrounding her, and it is enough, and Fareeha finds herself clenching around her fingers whispering Angela's name, hips snapping and heart pounding.

On the other end of the call, Angela must know what is happening, must hear her—Fareeha is not as prone to being loud as she, perhaps, but _is_ less embarrassed by being vocal—and when Fareeha opens her eyes, and allows herself to sink into the bed, it is immediately apparent that Angela has continued to obey her orders, despite Fareeha herself having been able to come.

" _Please,_ " Angela is begging her, voice high and tight, " _Please, please, please._ "

Fareeha pictures how she must look now, head tossing, flushed down past her collarbone, thighs shaking as she tries to stay still, imagines the glint of sweat against her body in the moonlight, and the furrow of her brow, wonders what she must be thinking, having been made to wait past the point of begging, as Fareeha tended to herself. For a moment, Fareeha considers going again, making Angela wait here, close to the edge, while she works herself up to a second orgasm, before realizing that Angela was right, and she _is_ tired after having gotten off.

" _Please, Fareeha,_ " Angela says again, and this time, Fareeha answers her.

"Okay," she says, "You can come for me now, habibti."

"Thank you," Angela chokes out, and then neither of them speaks, and all Fareeha can from Angela's end of the call is a series of noises. Not for the first time, Fareeha is grateful that Angela was assigned quarters next to the medical bay, and not next to the other officer's quarters—despite reassurances that the walls are more-or-less soundproof, it is a relief to know that there is no one a room over to possibly overhear this at only 12:18.

For a moment, Fareeha contemplates speaking, complimenting Angela, praising her, but she finds that her mind is still pleasantly fuzzy from her own orgasm, and she cannot think of anything to say which sounds right. It apparently does not matter, as moments later, Angela is gasping out her name amidst a litany of _I love you_ s _._

"You alright?" she asks, when Angela's breathing calms.

"Yes," is the answer, and whatever Angela was following with is cut off by a yawn. "Tired, though."

"You were tired to begin with," Fareeha points out.

"Doesn't count. 'M always tired. Now I'm _really_ tired."

Fareeha is not certain that the distinction matters, but she does not argue it. "I'm tired too," she admits.

"See? I'm the best doctor."

"Yes, yes, you've cured my insomnia, and sleep deprivation with it. Now cure your own and sleep."

"Okay," says Angela. "Love you."

"I love you, too. I wish you could be here with me."

"I will be soon."

"I know just... not soon enough."

"You okay?" Angela asks her.

"Yeah," says Fareeha, "I will be."

"Then I'm going to—"

"—Wait, actually," Fareeha interrupts her, having a sudden thought.

"Yes?" Angela sounds concerned enough that Fareeha almost regrets what she is about to say. _Almost._

"Would it be accurate to say, in your medical opinion, that we just had aural sex?"

There is a pause, before the pun sinks in, and then Angela groans, "Get some sleep, Fareeha."

Before Fareeha can even _try_ to fit in another pun, the call disconnects, and Fareeha is left alone to drift off to sleep, satisfied both physically and by her successful pun.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I wrote this whole phone sex scenario just so I could make that pun. Listen, Fareeha _would_.
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed this fluffiness! Let me know your thoughts.
> 
> <3 Rory


End file.
